The Night Before
by EasternViolet
Summary: Isabela pays M!Hawke an unexpected visit. Set at the end of Act 3. *NSFW*


**The Night Before**

Isabela moaned as she maneuvered herself on top of him. Hawke was barely holding on, despite her pleading demands for him to hang on, to last longer. She bit the top corner of her lip and uncoiled, grinding on top of him, with breathtaking speed. To comply with her request, he allowed his thoughts to drift away from her honey-kissed skin, now shimmering from the result of her exertion. Her smouldering gaze and pouty grin never ceased to taunt him—with one look she had the power to transform him into pure burning need. This made her request far more challenging—damned near impossible—as her nails raked down his chest. She adjusted her pace, arched her back but continued to thrust on him hard. The headboard thumped like a war drum on the back wall, keeping time with his heart. It was the first time he had heard any extraneous noise apart from 'Bela's husky moans and for a split second he wondered what Bodhan and Sandal must be thinking. For a second more, he regretted that his current activities now echoed throughout the estate.

And that was the best he could muster with regard to finding a reasonable distraction. Unable to cling to the flotsam of his imagination, he slipped back into the stream, her intensity pushing him closer to the edge. He grew harder as he watched her plump breasts rebound in synch with each plunge, her expression straining with utter desire. When his peak neared, she giggled and leaned down, her nipples now skimming his chest.

"Not yet," she sighed, breathless and full of hunger.

His hand caught the contour of her back, where her spine met the fullness of her bottom. Her undulations paused for a moment in response. Was his caress a distraction? He never thought to ask. She hardly spoke when they were together, but he had become skilled at reading her ebbs and flows. Almost on cue, she leaned back, clamping her hands his shins. Instinctively and on cue, he licked a finger and touched her current demand—the centre of her pleasure—until she cried out.

With both hands, he traced the slopes of her shoulders, past the peaks of her hips, sinking deeper into his own intensity, until he allowed himself to drift into his current, losing himself in the eddies of pleasure.

"Hawke!"

Her voice pulled him to the surface, and it occurred to him that she had called out to him more than once, and not in a tone that heralded her peak. He opened an eye to find that he was still inside her, his erection fading with each gasping breath.

She rolled her eyes and flopped beside him on the bed, leaning on her forearm and burying her hand within the mussed locks of her dark mane.

Kessler grinned with satisfaction before answering. "Yes, 'Bela?"

"I told you to wait."

"You already came two times. A man has needs."

She snuggled into the pillow. He looked longingly at her plump breasts, one resting on the other. The dark centres of her nipples teased him and the desire to pop each one into his mouth and suck was almost unbearable. He felt himself stir. It must have been obvious as Isabela arched an eyebrow and shuffled closer.

"Another go, Hawke?" She sighed deeply into his ear, her hot breath against his neck as a hand reached out and grasped him, caressing him with long, eager strokes.

Sleep was never an option when Isabela spent the night. He had not expected a visit from her at all, so this romp was a delicious treat. They usually met up at the Hanged Man, played cards or listened to one of Varric's yarns. Eventually, in that part of the night that switches, almost imperceptibly, from very late to very early, they would make their way up to Hightown. It was never a lover's stroll, hand-in-hand or with arms draped over each other. Their pace was brisk, purposeful and oftentimes they forwent any idle chatter. Without fail, and almost always unexpectedly, she would disappear into the shadows. After the first few times, he had learned to keep his pace steady, until in time, she would pull him into an alleyway, their lips meeting with fervent passion, their hands finding each other as if it were their last night in Kirkwall. At times, he knew that she wanted him in the alley, that she derived great pleasure from the possibility of being caught. But he was a mage. The city guard, or Maker forbid, the templars did not need to label him as a lecher. The Knight Commander already had extra eyes on him.

That night, he had intended on meeting Anders, but the mage had been dodging him for the past week. The few times that Kess had run into him before that, he looked unkempt and had stopped bathing. More worrisome was that he had an unsettled look in his eye, more so than usual, similar to that of a startled horse. At the Hanged Man, Varric had voiced the same concerns, which sent a sickening shudder deep into Kess' belly. If Varric saw it, then whatever was troubling Anders was bad. They had even taken a quick jaunt down to his clinic, only to find it dark and deserted. According to Tomwise, it had closed the day before. That was almost unheard of. Anders would see the sick at any hour.

Her grip tightened until pleasure met pain, and then she stopped. He opened his eyes.

"If you need sleep, I know a couple… lullabies." She flashed him a lopsided grin.

"I'm not tired." He rolled to his side and edged himself closer until he could feel his tender tip graze against her belly. That touch was met with a drawn-out hum from the back of her throat.

"Have you seen Anders, lately?" he asked just as her thumb caressed his cock in dizzying circles. It was his turn to hum.

With an arched eyebrow, she offered a curious look. "No. Not since…" Her brow furrowed. "Not since… those rogue templars kidnapped Carver… why?" She nudged herself closer; her breasts grazed his chest and lingered there intentionally.

"I'm worried about him. I think something is wrong."

She chuckled. "Honey, there has always been something wrong with that fellow… the two of them…" With the grace of a cat, she perched up, tucking her hair behind her ear. The bandana had been pulled off long ago and lay buried somewhere at the bottom of a pile of clothes next to his bed. Her hair, shiny with just a hint of azure, cascaded over her shoulders, another temptation to ply and touch.

"When he gets pissed off that… thing… just takes over. You mages. So unpredictable."

Kess rolled onto his back, accepting her tongue as it travelled down his sternum, "Unpredictable? Is that what I am?"

Isabela stopped just north of his navel. She had an insatiable appetite, always had.

"I'd say you are the most stable mage I know. That I've ever known, if you catch my meaning." She looked up at him, her eyes widened with need. And then she paused and folded both arms upon his torso to nestle her head. "Have you come to some agreement with Orsino?"

It was not often that she would become chatty, so he savored the chance, but he wished she was interested in something else, something completely unrelated to the templars and mages. Politically, he could tell that he was at the brink, that something was about to break, to change, to explode and there was no amount of distraction that would make that feeling in his gut go away. Talking about it only filled him with disgust and rage.

"I'm meeting with him tomorrow. Not sure there is much I can do with Knight-Commander Meredith in command."

There was a finality to that statement. He said it with the gravity of a man stepping foot upon the gallows. Then he caught her gaze, an intense stare that, without fail, turned his knees to jelly. A lock of hair fell over her eyes. With a thumb he caught it and returned it behind her ear, then with a finger, skimmed the ridge of her jaw line. He was overcome with the urge to trace all her contours, to commit every angle to memory—to feel the full circumference of each breast, to measure her depths and to map her every gulf. Instead, he returned with a long stare, seeing past her golden-flecked eyes, in hopes of catching her capricious soul, for just a moment, like catching a lightening bug for long enough to watch it glimmer, before letting it zig-zag in into the night. His thumb traced over her lips, then paused a moment upon the jeweled stud. Aware he was in dangerous waters, he trailed his touch down her chin, down her neck, still looking, still searching.

He expected her to mount him, but instead he found her at the edge of the bed sifting through the tangle of clothing on the floor.

Once upon a time, he would have asked questions. But that was no longer necessary. He realized that he had found a sensitive spot. She must have caught a longing look in his eye, the need for something she could not give.

She flashed him a look from over her shoulder. "Do you want me to go to the Gallows with you?"

Kess rolled to his side, not caring that the blanket had slipped to the foot of the bed, exposing the length of his nakedness. In addition to her hourglass figure, he watched her well-toned back muscles flex as she reached down to pull her tunic over her head.

"Of course. Who else would I bring?" he said.

Other than Varric, his options were few. He had not given the matter much thought, but 'Bela truly was his first choice.

"If that is the case, I'm going to need some sleep. I have a feeling that tomorrow is going to be a very long day."

The opportunity presented itself—to offer his bed and arms for sleep. But he said nothing. She always said no, always claimed that she could only sleep alone. After she pulled on her boots, she took the blanket and pulled it up to his chest, then ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him on the forehead. There was feeling in her touch, but he could tell that it was mostly guilt.

With a finger, she tipped up his chin and regarded him in earnest. "Meet me at the Hanged Man in the morning. I'll round up Varric and Kitten and then we'll head over to the Gallows."

His response was a simple nod.

The door shut. He grabbed his robe from its spot on the floor and tied the belt as he made for the window, just in time for to catch Isabela's swift shadow dash towards Lowtown.

It was quiet, almost too quiet.

From the distance, the chantry bells rang four.

* * *

_Bioware owns all. This is my first attempt at smut, guess I just broke my virginity on this one eh? _


End file.
